Friday, April 29, 2011

Peaches. It Totally Fits Me. Kinda.


Today, one of my best friends in the world is coming to see me.  

I am beyond excited.

As in, TYPING IN ALL CAPS BECAUSE MY BRAIN IS YELLING ALL THE TIME excitement.  (You really shouldn't leave the caps lock on unless you're going to be yelling.  It's rude and hurts my ears.  Figuratively.)

We (by “we” I really mean “I”) are going to make chocolate pudding shots.  If you’re good little boys and girls I might share the experience.  Or the recipe I use.  Which is fabulous.  Last time I just split the batch in two instead of making shots and put a layer of vanilla pudding in a fancy cup with a bunch of chocolate pudding and Cool Whip.  Then watched Whitney Cummings and cackled like a little witch on Halloween.

I should put sprinkles on top this time.

By the way, I’m drinking my first Coke in, like, two months.  You should be afraid of what I might say from here on out.

So, fun fact.  I’m completely hooked on The L Word right now.  I love the relationships and the way the women interact, whether they are friends or something else.  There’s an episode in season 4 in which Shane (who is my [and, like, every other woman who watches the show] favorite character) models a pair of Hugo Boss tightie whities.  I fell in love with the song that was playing during the scene, which was this.   

Thank God for Shazam.  I even use it in movie theaters. 

So, I’ve been listening to Peaches for two days.  And I am in love. Despite the fact that she totally stole my porn star name.  

Rude.

Seriously, though.  

You have to listen to some of her music. 

She has the dirtiest, crudest, most awesome lyrics in all the land.  She’s like AC/DC.  But with less veiled innuendo and more songs about MMF threesomes.  

AND you can dance to it. 

In the immortal word of Charlie Sheen, “Winning.”


Lastly, my dear dudes and dudettes, I will be changing mah herr on Monday. 

The spelling “herr” doesn’t really work that well for me there, I think.  It’s German and pretty much sounds like “hair”.  But I was trying to sound all Nelly.  I failed.  Maybe.

Back to topic.  My dad decided that he would pay for me to highlight my hair because he likes it better more blonde than it really is.  My roots have grown to be longer than half of my entire hair length.  Just the bottom is really blonde now.  My natural color is between dirty blonde and light brown.  Apparently this is just too dark for him.  I’m thinking of doing a body wave, too.  Since my very straight hair is having an asshole phase and being inconsistent. 

We’ll see.

Next week.

And now, Peaches has some pudding to make.

Yup.  It's kinda ruined.  Now it just makes me want a silver lightning bolt on my face.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

I should remember to take out my contacts when I sleep.

I feel like I'm close to having a slight mental breakdown. 

My mom asked me today if I'm starting to feel burnt out or run down.

I tried to explain a little without actually telling her I can barely hold myself together right now.

The funny thing is that I feel more like myself than I have in a very, very long time.  I feel fairly comfortable in my skin.  And my mind.  After I really started analyzing myself and trying to work to become my true self again I felt just very slightly off, even on my most amazing and happy days.

Lately, I no longer feel that way.

Maybe it's because I've finally accepted that alcohol is not directly what hurt me in the past and it will not hurt me in the future.  It was the person misusing the alcohol and, as he is no longer in my life, there is nothing wrong with having a cosmopolitan on Easter.  Especially if it helps get me through the more stressful stages of my social anxiety.

I've also started to be honest with my close friends and myself about something I had never talked about before.  I think that's really helped.  Now I don't feel as if there are two parts of me that don't overlap exactly right.  I feel like all my edges fit together. 

Which is great.  Because I am realizing how awesome I am.  I'm totally fun.  As long as I can mellow out a little.  At least, I think I'm fun.  If you don't think I am, don't tell me.  I'm the one who has to hang out with me all the time and I crack myself up.

Despite feeling like I am finally truly being myself, I am crazy stressed out right now.

I feel like I'm burying myself in homework and never taking the time to do it.  I can't get to bed on time, so I'm constantly super tired.  And, to top of the stress and lack of sleep I'm already dealing with, I have PMS this week.  It's my first period on a new birth control pill.  One that I took when I was 20, but not since and I'm apparently reacting very differently to it now than I did then. 

The worst part is I've been gassy and bloated for at least a week.  It's uncomfortable.

It makes me not want to get pregnant.

Ever.

That, and I like my vagina and breasts the way they are now.  All mostly firm and tight.  Not ripped and stretched by miniature life forms and the nutrients that feed them.

Maybe I just need a nap.

Naps are good.

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Bunny Day

I had so many great ideas for a post today.

The history of the actual Easter story and how our current customs came to be. 

An explanation of what Easter means to me and why this year is the end of everything I associate the holiday with.

Even an analysis of the lyrics to "Baby Got Back" (which I am totally *not* listening to right now).

None of those are going to be written about (by me) today.

Why, you ask?  Because I've already had a fairly significant amount of vodka and cannot think well enough to actually write about those things.  I'm mostly focusing on words that kind of make sense together and getting rid of the squiggly, red, you've-spelled-it-wrong-you-fucking-idiot line underneath words. 

Originally, this had been intended to help me get over my anxiety issues and socialize.  But, alas, Easter plans were sort of ended abruptly and without my knowledge. 

So, here I sit.  Eating pretzels and wondering how I'm going to finish the rest of the excessive amount of Cosmopolitan I made. 

At least I have excellent company.


Happy Easter, everyone!

(Yay!  I spelled most things right!  I think.)

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Poetry Purge


I’ve mentioned before that I write as a form of self-therapy.  I didn’t mention that I don’t just write in paragraphs like I typically do for this blog, though that is primarily how I write these days.  I find any kind of writing to be therapeutic, cleansing, and helpful to my inner being.  

If I’m having a particularly hard time processing something or if I’m too emotional about it to really write, I write poetry.

I’ve kept a poetry journal since I was 15.  Several, actually.

Since the weather is dismal and I’m in sort of a funny mood, I thought I might share a few of the poems I’ve written in the last few years.  From the time period in which I was going through the breakup I keep referencing every so often, to be more specific.

Please bear in mind how deeply personal poetry is to me, since it comes from a place of overwhelming and raw emotion.  It actually takes a lot for me to share these and I really can’t tell you why I decided to do so today.  Maybe I’m setting you up to tell you my story sooner than I thought I would be ready to.

Who knows.

Also, it’s better if I tell you now that I don’t like rhyming in poetry unless it’s completely necessary or if the “poem” is actually a “song”.  I prefer free-verse, so the poems read more like a story than a verse-y poem and the punctuation is rather stylistic.  So do not go into this expecting my poems to rhyme, have stanzas with the same amount of lines every time, or lines with the same amount of syllables each time.  They will not.  If you prefer that kind of poetry, don’t even bother to read mine because you won’t enjoy it one bit.  

The first one is my favorite of the three by far.

Here goes.  

----

i watched the moon rise tonight
its silver tongues
licking through the branches
of the ash tree in my backyard
as the man looked down at me
benignly
like a father to his child

i watched that face blur
out of focus
as the wind rippled through the water
of the pond to the shore
that benign smile
warped slowly

i turn my face
toward heaven and the silver orb
i see the stoic, undisturbed face
of the man still watching me
and the black expanse beyond
is what really haunts me

it is that painfully empty noir
that reminds me
of your eyes
and how black they became
eight months ago
in the steamy night

when your first was raised
and i was pinioned
in that small room
where no one heard my cries
as the moon rose
throwing silver tongues
through the still-blooming trees
and the small window of my prison.

----

somehow
my heart still beats
for you
i still tremble
cold and alone
at the whisper
the scent
of your name
your breath
my blood runs cold

every day i find
small reminders
of a pain
you caused me
each bruise
i remember
a shadow in my mind
hair in your hands
my hair
in my hands

how do i forgive
when i cannot
forget?
how does my heart
still beat
when all you
have done
is rip it out
time
and time again?

i still remember
curtains pulled
and darkness
that spills on my face
remember
my hands, your hands
our bodies
separately entwined
for the last time

i love you
echoes
in my empty
and hollow chest

Let me go.

----

and my pillow
shall dampen my
face
in my
sleep
eyes
shall close
and remain
in blissful solitude
eternity
shall be nothing
in the wake of
your eyes.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Pillow Talk

You know what’s really not fair?

Some people can get away with three or four hours of sleep each night.  Some people can get seven hours of sleep in three days and be like, “eh, I’m kinda tired, but I’ll be fine.”

This is bullshit.

I get six hours of sleep in one night and I’m falling asleep at my desk.

Four hours and I get head and neck aches.

Less than four hours and I might as well be dead. 

Somewhere between 7.5 and 8.5 hours per night seems to be perfect.  I feel this is really unfair.  Because I frequently have much better things to do than sleep. 

Like bake four dozen more cookies.  Or read a book.  Or do my homework, for once.  Or play with Stumbleupon.

I’m trying to be realistic, here.

But, alas, no.

At least eight hours of bullshit sleep needed per night.

Don’t take this the wrong way.  I LOVE sleep.  We have been involved in a blissfully torrid affair for the last 24 years or so.  Each night I wait until sweet sleep comes to embrace me with its loving caress and hold me till the morning, which always comes too quickly.  Sometimes we fight, because sleep can be a dick and let me wake up in the middle of a perfectly good sex dream or doesn’t let me wake up soon enough when a murderous zombie is chasing me through the creepy-ass Midway of Fun (in the Carnival of Rape).  Or sleep will let me dream about my own personal Mr. Big and wake up to cry for, you know, the rest of the day.

For the most part, we get along, though.  Usually I sleep too deeply to remember having those dreams.  And it’s probably not fair to blame sleep for the zombiefied projections of my subconscious anyway.

I really need to get some sleep.

I was going to last night, but I baked cookies instead. 

I can’t say I feel I made the wrong choice.  They were tasty.

I can say that I feel like my eyeballs are crispy today and I wish I had laced a batch with coke so I could make it through class tonight.  But I don’t do coke and don’t find it to be easily accessible while I’m baking.   Or most other times, for that matter.  I mean, I guess if I really needed some I could acquire it, but I’ve never been quite that desperate.

I don’t even like energy drinks.

So, tonight is the night. 

Sleep and me.  Alone time.  And dearest sleep, please bring me some really good dreams. 

Seriously.

With Ryan Reynolds in them.  Naked and mixing me a mai tai on a tropical beach.  Or something.  I mean, it's really ultimately at your discretion.  I'm just throwing out awesome ideas here.  And by "throwing out" I really mean "pick this one or I will kill you".

Then make my dream real life.  And take a short vacation. 

Friday, April 15, 2011

Technological Retardation


I feel like I haven’t been writing enough.  And that kills me.  I truthfully just haven’t had the time or mental capacity this week. 

I desperately wanted to post pictures from my fabulous trip and I haven’t.  This is partly because I have, like, four on my cell phone (from which it would be pretty easy to retrieve and post them), and partly because I have to take the rest off my camera.  I also haven’t had time to edit them.

By edit I mean crop them and try a bunch of films and shit that I always decide to take off.  So, crop them.  And maybe put on a nice border.

Another problem is that my desktop computer, which I’d been using for picture and document storage for at least three years, died last year.  

Like, it doesn’t turn on. 

At all.  

Ever.  

Dead.  

This means I still have photos on my camera from last March. 


Funny story.

I hadn’t used my camera for a while and I wanted to charge it before I left last weekend, just to be safe.  Because, you know, I was going to use it a lot (*snort*).  But I couldn’t get it to charge.  Or turn on.  So I bought a new battery (camera batteries are expensive bullshit) and charged it for probably seven minutes while packing my toiletries right before I left. 

Charging a battery right after purchasing it totally doesn’t sound like me, I know.  Putting the battery in my camera and trying to take a picture directly after purchasing said battery, then assuming my camera was suddenly fucked up, getting pissed, leaving it at home, sending my brother a text about how I hate technology and my camera is broken 200 miles later (after fuming over it for three hours or so), only to come home after two days to find that the technology fairy fixed my camera as my brother laughs at me and asks if I thought to charge it before using it does sound like me.  He has techno-joy.  I have him.

Lucky for me the guy at the battery store was looking out.

Maybe it was the fact that I handed him my old battery and just said, “My camera is dead” that clued him in on the fact that I should not be operating heavy machinery.  Or probably even light machinery.

So, when I turned my camera on after charging it for the least amount of time I thought I could get away with, I looked at the pictures on it.

I discovered two things.

One:  I have quite a few inappropriate (but not necessarily nude, you perverts) photos on there that I don’t want just chilling on any old computer.

Two:  I have a ton of photos from my uncle’s memorial service last may that I totally forgot about.  Oops. 

I’ve actually been intending to purchase a new laptop because my old one hates me (the feeling is sort of mutual, you bag of douche…why won’t you let me watch movies anymore?!) and because I need an actual functioning computer for when I move and start attending real school in the fall.  This would be an ideal place for me to upload the pictures from my camera to, but I don’t have it yet.  I’m hoping this weekend I’ll find one I want.

My main problem on the laptop front is that I have standards and I want everything.  Actually, I want a laptop in a pretty color, maybe a little larger than a netbook in size, with a cd/dvd drive.  A built in camera would be totally nice, too, because then I can Skype with something that is not my phone and might therefore be less inclined to torment me because it doesn't know me yet.  And I don’t want to pay a shit-ton of money for it.

So, wish me luck on that quest.

I'm open to ideas.

That's not true.  I'm open to good ideas.

 Any good ideas?


At this point, I’m starting to wonder how I even manage to operate this blog.  Somehow, I’m afraid.

Maybe you should be, too.

One day I will crash the internet and you will all know who is to blame.

So, sorry for that.  In advance.